


A Short History of a Nickname

by Etnoe



Category: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/pseuds/Etnoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giotto has an odd way of introducing his oldest friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Short History of a Nickname

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Porn Battle](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/porn_battle) prompt "Katekyo Hitman Reborn, G./Giotto, beloved". Spoilers up to chapter 308, and based around [Binktopia/Mangastream's epic mistranslation](http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y114/mintshaped/crop308-mangastream-binktopia-obestbeloved.jpg) and the big honking donkey-laugh I got out of reading it.

* * *

  
"And who are you, dear?" the woman asked the red-headed boy standing beside her son; she was sure she had not yet been introduced to this friend of Giotto's, but it was a little odd that she didn't recognise him at all when there had been no news of strangers coming to stay in the village. "Do I know your mother, perhaps?"

Giotto answered before his friend could. "I love him," he said; "he's my friend."

The boy choked.

The Vongola matriarch left off organising a kitchen cupboard and turned her full attention to the boys; she recognised these signs, especially the way the other boy gaped at her son. "Giotto," she said, "is that the first time you've spoken around him?"

Giotto was very quiet, dreamy, and even she would admit, could be strange. He thought the question over, and she stifled a sigh when he nodded. Her son really needed to learn how to open his mouth.

"I meant no harm questioning him. There's no need to rush to his defence," she said reproachfully, and as punishment Giotto gravely accepted his hair being ruffled.

Hopefully all this affection wouldn't end in Giotto getting teased by the other boy. She gestured into the kitchen as a distraction. "Why don't you two sit here, and I'll get a snack."

As she ushered them in, Giotto's friend stepped away and stared incredulously at him - and then blinked fast and slung an arm around his neck so vehemently that it was nearly violent. Giotto laughed and wrestled comfortably into the grip, looking accustomed to it. He'd played outside a lot lately in spite of the cold autumn; he must have been with this child.

"Giotto's my best friend too!" the boy announced with a sniff. "And - and we'll be companions for life!"

She felt nearly as surprised as the boy seemed to be feeling, to see her son's odd honesty returned. She let them warm up on stools near the stove and grinned at the wondering sidelong glances Giotto's friend gave him, and happily resolved to never, ever let Giotto live down the story of the introduction.

*

"My beloved!"

"Dear God," said G at the smile that lit Giotto's face, and turned on his heel. "I am leaving."

His friends, seated at a table by the door of the inn, roared with laughter. Knuckle leapt from his seat to haul G over. "Watch your mouth!" Knuckle said. 

"Yeah, yeah." G shoved him off, mostly friendly. "How drunk is he? You lot know he's not used to it." He leaned on the table and snapped his fingers in front of Giotto's face.

Giotto's eyes stayed unfocused as he looked distantly into the smoky air of the inn. Then his head dipped to kiss the snapping fingers, and he burst out laughing. Everyone did, except G. "Far too drunk!" he growled.

"Why do you reject him?" Paolo clenched a fist over his heart. "Your bosom friend! Your _beloved_!"

Giotto had been proclaiming love for the whole table and any acquaintance they named for the past half hour, and they found it hilarious. Knuckle, as a clean-living sportsman, was the only one sober enough to exchange a look with G and shrug. Then he laughed anyway when everyone else decided that "Beloved" was the kind of nickname that had staying power, enjoying the companionship and the look on G's face.

*

The joke was well established by the time they met Cozart Simon, having circled between their families and friends for years. On hearing his introduction to Cozart as "my beloved", G simply assumed a quietly martyred air. But that evening, when the two of them were in Giotto's room - left alone by the rest of the Vongola family, as per long tradition - he refused to let it slide. Especially with Giotto lying on the bed with a grin that self-satisfied.

"You can't tell an out-of-towner a thing like that. It's lucky his aunt has told him some stories about what our friends get up to."

Giotto spread his hands. "Cozart seems to have a sense of humour. I'm sure we have nothing to worry about."

G got up from sitting on the windowsill and jumped on the bed, crouching astride him to lightly thump his head against the headboard. Giotto's smile only widened, and G's fingers slipped into playing with his hair. "Not the point! Stop telling strangers things like that before it ends badly!"

That grin made Giotto look like he couldn't conceive of a bad ending to anything - only of adoring and being adored, as he found so natural and others found so difficult to resist. "Cozart's a good person."

"Yes, fine. That seems fair." He snorted. "I already see you're not letting him go. You're too alike."

Giotto was rapidly losing interest in conversation, butting his head into G's touch. "Isn't it good news for you? Another good friend like me?" he said, gripping G's hips and pulling him down.

It was up to G to listen for nearby noises and watch for shadows in the line of light below the closed door. "No," he said as he was assured of their privacy, and kissed Giotto, "more trouble than it's worth—"

Now Giotto snorted at him, making his breath curl sharply in on itself by sliding a hand down the trail of hair on his stomach. He followed it past the waistband of his trousers and reached into the tight space between skin and fabric. Those fingers, always wonderfully too-warm—G bucked his hips and hissed happily as he settled himself in Giotto's palm, and set to work wreaking vengeance on Giotto's shirt buttons. His friend made small vengeances necessary.

When they'd got out of their trousers and G's hand was wrapped around both their lengths, Giotto's fingers traced up the side of his chest and neck and face, following lines of fire and lending them heat. "G," he said, gratifyingly hoarse, and then, " _beloved_ —"

"Don't!" G. bit the inside of his cheek. "Don't start!"

Too late. They both burst into laughter, rolling out of position and falling side by side. "Bastard, you ridiculous bastard..." G took comfort in sputtering the last of his laughter as he squeezed his hand around Giotto and let go, abrupt, to press on the smooth skin behind his sac. He watched Giotto's eyes go wide as release took him, nearly luminous in that way they had, and buried his face against Giotto's shoulder and stroked himself to completion.

That had one problem - it meant Giotto had no distractions, and could lean back and watch him, too. G looked up and saw an expression on his face like Giotto meant what he said, even if it was ridiculous.

"Yes," said G, "fine. Same here," and felt the racing of his heart calm as Giotto smiled, unsurprised in the understanding of years.


End file.
